Keturah and Lord Death

I stopped, unseen, to watch her for a moment. She chattered sweetly to the animal, and sometimes she picked up acorns and fed him. Occasionally the pig raised its head, seemingly to listen to her, and picked the acorns delicately out of the palm of her hand.

How had I never noticed before how dear she was? How dear, in fact, was everyone in my village, and every house and tree and garden. How comforting the whisper of the wheel of the mill, the clanging of the smith’s hammer, the lowing of cattle, the laughter of women. Were there any jewels so beautiful as the apples in the orchard, any decoration more lovely than the flowers that grew around every cottage and sprouted in the thatch of their roofs and tumbled over arbors?

Je

“Je

“I thought to cry out, and then curtseyed instead,” Je

“You must not believe everything that is said, Je

“Yes, and I have another that makes my eyes blue,” she said, “but I may not wear it until fair time.”

“How do you come to have two new frocks?” I asked.

Je

“Lady Temsland has given cloth stuff to every family in the village. She says if a clean and pretty village will keep death away a time, as you say, perhaps clean and pretty people will keep him away longer still.”

Surprised as I was, there was no time to think of a reply, for I felt an urgency to get to Soor Lily’s for foxglove for Grandmother.

“Goodbye, then, Je

“Goodbye, beautiful witch Keturah,” she said ever so politely.

As I walked down toward the village square, I saw that fresh-washed linens hung on the lines. Honey Bilford was firing her pothook, and her neighbor was sweeping out her root cellar. Young men polished their spades, sharpened their axes, and oiled the yokes. Young women scoured crock and kettle until they could see their pretty faces in them. Down by the water, some of the men were repairing the pier, and Andy Mersey was carving a beautiful sign that said “Welcome to Tide-by-Rood.” The church bell shone like gold.

I met the cobbling crew along the way, and in the middle of them was John Temsland. Someone told him of my approach, and he straightened. The men drew away, scowling and muttering, but at a word from John they all doffed their hats.

“Keturah, what think you?” John said. “By tomorrow, one will be able to walk to every house in the village without muddying his feet. The women have been just as busy as the men. There isn’t an untidy cupboard or a dirty corner in any cottage of the village. Mother has got the manor fitted as royally as she can, too.”

“You have all done well,” I said.

“It was your counsel that inspired us, Keturah Reeve,” John said.

I blushed and said, “I must be on my way. Grandmother is poorly.”

He stepped aside with a slight bow, and I hurried up the path.

“If I may, I will pay my respects to your grandmother later,” he called after me. I nodded my head in quick assent, and continued on.

The thatch was being freshened on every cottage roof, and girls were lining the pathways with whitewashed stones. The door and shutters of one cottage had been painted an apple green, and those of other cottages were yellow, a bright blue, and lavender. Rosebushes had been pruned and barrel irons polished. People worked and laughed, but when I walked by they looked away, and no one spoke to me.

I could not guess what price Soor Lily would ask for foxglove, but whatever it was, I set my mind to pay it. Walking on the cobblestones eased the fatigue in my bones.

The wise woman was standing at the door when I arrived, as if she had been apprised of my coming. I could see two of her sons hiding in the bushes to the side of the house.

Soor Lily seemed more solicitous than before, more hoveringly nervous. She set tea before me so carefully the bowl made no sound as it touched the table.

“Keturah,” she said, “it is not enough, is it? The road, the mill—they will not be enough, perhaps.”

“I don’t know... Yes, of course they will...”

“You are not well. See how pale you are, and how your hands tremble, and you are wasting. So thin.”

“I am fine. I didn’t sleep well. I—I have come for Grandmother, Soor Lily. Please, I need foxglove.”

“Foxglove, yes. I have foxglove for those who fear to find it for themselves.”

“Please,” I said. “I will have some. For Grandmother.”

“For your dear grandmother. She has always been kind to me.”

Soor Lily arose and fetched foxglove, bringing me a folded paper of crushed leaves.

I went to take it, but she snatched it back so quickly and so deftly that it vanished, leaving me wondering if she had really held it out to me at all.

“Please, Soor Lily. I have no money,” I said, my voice trembling in spite of my intention to be firm. “I’ve nothing more to give you. If I ask even the smallest favor of Lord Death again, I will most certainly die.”

“No, no. It is just foxglove, pickable for anyone who looks. No, sweetums. This is but a small thing, this foxglove, and so I ask only a small favor of you.” She stroked the foxglove thoughtfully. “Look at my sons while touching the charm.”

I was speechless.

“It is a nothing price, yes?” she said quietly, nodding.

When I remained silent, she went to the door and the window, and one by one her sons assembled. The room that was so roomy now became stiningly small as the seven men trooped in, hunched and pouting like little boys caught in a misdeed.

Soor Lily placed the foxglove on the table. I gazed at it for strength to do what was required, and then, slowly, I reached my hand into my apron pocket and touched the charm.

One son folded his arms tightly, seemingly angry that he must be looked at. One, the baby whom Lord Death had allowed to live, looked frightened and bit his fingernails. One was pigeon-toed. Another picked at his ears, and still another breathed through his mouth, allowing spittle to collect at the corners of his lips. The other two hid behind their five brothers so I could barely see them.

Soor Lily put her mouth close to my ear. “Hold the charm now, sweetums,” she said. “Look at my darlings. That is the price I ask for foxglove—to look. Is that not the smallest of fees? Only look.”

For a moment I thought of grabbing the foxglove and ru

I gritted my teeth and held the charm while I looked. I felt the tiny jerking movements as my eyes passed from one man to the other. The men shrank from my gaze.

“Yes, that’s it, pretty Keturah. Look, look,” Soor Lily whispered. “Wouldn’t you be the perfect one to whom I could teach my magic arts? Aren’t you the very daughter I should have had? And don’t I keep smelling plague in the air? What if the road is not enough? If only you could love one of my sons, perhaps one of them might live...”

I studied the face of each one, and still the charm, blessedly, looked and looked and did not cease in its looking. At last I said, utterly relieved, “I have looked, and I will not love any of them, Soor Lily.”

Soor Lily put her long white hand on her bosom and made a sound like a wounded bird. “Not even one?” she whimpered.

“Not even a little,” I said.

She looked at them sorrowfully. “It is hard to believe, but it must be true,” she said. “Run and play now, sons.”

They vanished so quickly and silently that it was as if they had never been there.

“Goodbye,” she said to me.